Coming back is about you
by MTraverAndujar
Summary: You. Again.
1. Coming back is about you

_**Disclaimer: Bill and Laura don't belong to me. Clearly, it's them who do whatever they want with me.**_

 _ **This fic is for Kaitlynn Wells. For being an avid reader, a passionate supporter and an encouraging force. Not the one you asked for but I promise you will have it!**_

He gets in unannounced. On his way down the corridor he passes by a few people carrying boxes, tools and other stuff. They notice his presence and even greet him politely but everyone is hurried and they just walk past him merely acknowledging his presence, without even bothering to stop their chatter or their work, to give some thought to what he must be doing here. His presence in Colonial One became natural years ago anyway. Even the guards at the door just greet him and step aside to let him enter.

He allows himself a second to catch his breath and try to quiet his racing heart. Only now does he notice he has all but run his way from the raptor to this spot. This is far from being the only reason why his heart threatens to burst in his chest.

He is as ready as he will ever be. He takes one more step. His eyes peer into the dimly lit room.

There she is.

The moment he sets his eyes on her, a wave of relief threatens to engulf him. He stays by the door, silently watching her. She is standing by the desk, her back half- turned to him, holding some papers in her hand. Her shoulders are slightly hunched forward; her glasses have slid down almost to the tip of her nose. A lock of auburn hair slides over her shoulder over and over again, until she tucks it behind her ear absentmindedly, where it can no longer annoy her or cloud her vision. For a few seconds she leaves her hand there, by her ear, her fingers flexed, as if she had forgotten that it still belongs to her. Her casual, worn clothes reveal that she has not had the time to shake off New Caprica yet. As a matter of fact there is a weight to her demeanor; a different, darker quality to her posture and her movements. She shifts slightly and Bill catches a glimpse of her whole face. Her expression is grave, and downright fatigued. The edges of her jaw and her nose seem to be much sharper than the last time he saw her.

Erasing the traces of New Caprica is going to be much harder than just having a shower and changing clothes.

The realization clutches at his heart a second before his presence registers with her. She might have felt the background noise of his steps approaching but only now, maybe once she has finished surveying the report in her hand, does she actually notice that there is someone at the door.

She turns to the entrance and looks up.

Both freeze in place as their eyes meet. A hesitant smile spreads on his lips and is immediately mirrored by hers. They take in each other's presence. As he savors these first seconds of their reunion, a small part of his mind is still advising caution. He manages to resist the urge to run to her, to pull her flush into his arms. He is not sure why he is holding back, however. He cannot tell if it is because of her or himself. This is almost too much for his old heart to take.

Slowly, Laura takes off her glasses and puts them on the desk without bothering to fold them. Divested from the professional look and the safety barrier they confer, her jumbled appearance becomes much more noticeable all of a sudden. Her clothes are not just casual or worn, but dusty; her hair is disheveled and in bad need of a proper wash. She is now bare before him, and her eyes tell him that she knows that much. She bites her lower lip and blinks. Her chest rises and falls raggedly, as if she had just finished a long race.

He decides that he loves this messy version of Laura Roslin even better than the classy, composed, presidential one.

"Bill." Her whisper is almost inaudible.

Almost. But not to him.

He takes one tentative step towards her in response. Then another one. She comes around the corner of her desk with a small step of her own.

Restraint dissolves.

Their strides become wider and hurried and if the distance between them had been bigger they would have ended up running.

He opens his arms wide and she throws herself inside that warm, welcoming circle. Their bodies clash in a tight embrace. Laura's arms close around his waist, his wrap around her back and shoulders. He presses her to him in utter desperation, as if he wanted to imprint her form on his flesh. He breathes in her scent, revels in the feel of her clinging to him so tightly. He thanks the gods that, whatever she has had to endure, whatever darkness this Laura has about her now, whatever grievances her fight down on that planet has caused to her heart and soul, she still does not reject him. She remains his friend, his partner; his warm, safe harbor. As he secures her head against his shoulder with his big palm, he understands this has been his biggest fear: to be returned a Laura that was not quite herself anymore.

She is exhausted and damaged, that much he can tell.

But she is also whole, safe, healthy, back. Here.

"You shaved." She whispers, her voice a little shaky.

He chuckles. She was quick noticing. He can feel she is smiling too, her face buried in his neck.

"Back on duty."

She shakes her head gently.

"You never were off duty, Bill."

It is not a reproach. And even if it was, it is just the truth.

"I guess not." He reflects. "I knew I couldn't."

"Thank you." She murmurs after a long, meaningful silence.

So many things contained in those two simple words.

"You never really got off duty, either."

"Not really." She admits.

Bill lets out a gruff, affirmative noise. He knows how that works. He knows about the weight of responsibility. Better than anyone, maybe except her.

They part slowly. As their eyes meet again, Bill slides his hands down her arms and takes her hands in his. She lets him. Even more, she welcomes the gesture pressing them affectionately. He searches for a clue in those green, watery pools of hers. He finds them clear and open for him. He craves some answers but he does not want to hurt her any more than she already is.

"How are you?"

Laura sighs.

"I'm fine. I mean, I've quite the mess to clean up." She waves her hand around and behind her, over the desk, the papers and the obvious lack of order of her former quarters. "But everything will be so frakking easy compared to living down there."

She intended her comment to be a reassuring one but the moment it passes her lips she startles realizing how wrong it has sounded. Bill's tied brow is proof enough that she has achieved the opposite effect.

"What did they do to you, Laura? Did they harm you?"

She averts her eyes and her face darkens as she remembers and reflects. Even before she replies, he feels the tide of anger building in the pit of his stomach. He is ready to kill whoever has hurt this woman with his very own hands. After a few moments, she shakes her head.

"No. Not really. I… I was in detention. Twice. I was put in a cell. I'm not sure for how long. It was cold. And empty. Not even a cot where I could lie down. And the light bulb was always on. But I was given food. I've eaten far better but…" She shrugs. "I was neither beaten nor tortured. And I was released unharmed. Overall, I've been much better off than others."

Bill's frown does not vanish. Despite her reassuring efforts, it is not like he can be glad to hear this. Besides, he is sure that she is trying to make it sound far lighter than it really was. He knows better than to let her calm demeanor fool him. She possibly does not want him to worry, does not want to admit the extent of her suffering even to herself.

"I've heard… I've been told your name was on a death list."

Her shoulders slump down in defeat. She has just understood she will not be able to hide this piece of information from him after all. He gives her time to come to terms with the fact that she cannot lie to him. She breathes in deeply before speaking.

"Yes, that's true. They…" She stops, searching for the words. "They showed up at the school in the middle of a lesson. They dragged me out, tossed a hood over my head and forced me to get on a truck. They took off the hood and I saw there were other prisoners, too. They left us locked in there with our hands tied."

Bill's lips press together in a thin, taut line. Instinctively, his thumbs stroke her wrists as if he were trying to instill some healing energy in those delicate forms that have endured such an awful treatment.

"There were other trucks. They drove us all outside the camp to a place in the middle of nowhere. They told us to get off the trucks. We obeyed. As soon as we hit the ground we saw the centurion lineup. They were ready to shoot. They were going to kill us all. I'm not sure if Tom Zarek pushed me down or it was me who pushed him but we were rolling on the ground a second before we heard the shooting. When we dared to look up we saw it was your crew who had shot all the centurions down. They arrived just in time."

"So Tom Zarek saved your life?"

Laura reflects.

"He might have. Or maybe I saved his. I really don't know."

"So there might something I have to be grateful to that bastard for, after all."

Laura smiles at him tenderly. A faint blush creeps up her cheeks. A silence envelops them, one thick with things unsaid, with restrained emotions, with the longing and despair of a wait neither of them knew if it would end, when, or how.

"If we had arrived just a few seconds later…" Bill shakes his head. His piercing blue eyes bore into hers intensely. "I can't even think of it."

She looks at him, letting the meaning of his words sink in. Then, she gives his hands a comforting squeeze and speaks softly:

"If you had arrived only a few seconds later, even if we had died right there on that hill, it would have never been your fault, Bill."

"I'm not talking about the guilt, Laura. That I would have managed… eventually. It's the grief I doubt I would have ever gotten over."

To highlight his own words he lifts her hands to his lips and kisses them, closing his eyes with force, his touch sweet and lingering. When he lifts his eyes again he sees her struggling to contain her own emotions. Her expression bare and raw, she looks almost broken yet entirely herself.

"I never doubted you would come back to get us, Bill. But I didn't…" Her voice quivers. "I was locked in that cell, or in my tent at night and I thought of you and I… I couldn't be sure that you were alive, or that you would make it."

They stay still, their gazes locked, out of words, letting their eyes do what they do best: let one another see inside their souls. The universe spins around them. Slowly, they fall into each other's arms.

"Gods, Bill…" Her throat is thick with tears, her voice suffocated.

He feels her release all the air in her lungs as their arms close around each other once again. He wishes so badly that she would trust him with the truth, that she would speak to him openly about her fear, her insomnia, her anxiety. He wishes so badly that she would open that door for him, to let him see and let him help her heal and soothe with his love the parts of her soul that have hardened too much to be able to survive hell. But then again, if she did that, she would not be Laura Roslin. She would not be the woman he loves. And he also loves her for the parts of her character that can eventually hurt him.

"Will you be OK?" he asks. The infinite affection in his voice makes it imposible for her to answer with anything but the truth.

"Yes. Yes, I will."

Something in her tone reassures him. In it there is an implicit admission of her pain along with the certainty that she can do it. He will see to it that she recovers from all her wounds, that she forgets all of her fears. He will let nothing get in the way of his care for her.

He draws back slowly and kisses her forehead before searching for her eyes again.

"I need to leave now. My shift in CIC starts in a few minutes."

It sounds almost apologetic. She nods and gives him a weak smile.

"It's okay. It's not like I'm going to get bored here with all I have to do, either." She reassures him.

He nods. He releases her completely now, feeling immediately empty, his arms useless, his chest cold.

He does not walk away, though. There is something else he wants to mention before leaving. Because this has been too short and only the gods know how many chances they will have to get together and talk without the constraints of their jobs in the next weeks. He fears Bill and Laura will disappear behind the Admiral and the President indefinitely as soon as they start trying to set the fleet back on track. He glances at her. Laura is waiting, expectant, nervousness visibly building in her, her smart eyes trying to read him. He doubts where to start. He looks down, then back at her.

Just spit it out.

"Laura, I'm wondering if you would like to join me for dinner. I came here because I didn't want to wait any longer to see you but I'd love to have a little more time to talk."

Laura's eyes sparkle and a mischievous smile spreads on her lips.

"Are you asking me out, Admiral?"

He chuckles but, to his credit, he does not blush. Such a thing simply does not happen to tough, seasoned admirals.

"Considering the offer involves my quarters, I guess I'm rather asking you in."

She laughs heartily and he feels a pang of joy at that sight and that sound. It is a flash of light, a strong current of hope that everything will be alright, if she can still laugh like that. Then she looks back at him with a splendid smile. He feels, for the umpteenth time since he walked in, a wave of relief wash over him.

"I'd love to."

His own smile broadens.

"My shift ends at five. Shall we meet at six? Does that suit you?"

"It's perfect."

He nods his goodbye, a little too formally, he chides himself; but he feels his own eyes sparkle and he is sure they are giving him away entirely.

He could not care less.

With the echo of her soothing voice still ringing in his ears, Bill turns around and walks towards the door slowly. He feels his happiness might be dripping as he goes, leaving a shiny trail behind him.


	2. We can just do tonight

They have been talking for hours.

She had arrived at the agreed time, announced and preceded by the security guard's polite knock at the hatch.

"Madame President is here, Sir."

He had then heard her unmistakable voice coming from right behind the man, who turned his head and came momentarily out of sight. It was barely a whisper and Bill could not make out Laura's words from where he was standing but he had smiled inwardly nonetheless. He had a pretty accurate idea about what she was saying. His assumption was confirmed when the guard's head showed again from behind the hatch and the man corrected himself:

"Ms. Roslin, Sir."

Bill suppressed a chuckle and nodded formally.

"Let her in."

The moment she had walked in, the guard closing the hatch behind her, his quarters had lit up. It felt so good to have her back. She had been the missing piece of his life all these months and it was just natural to welcome her back home, to the quiet intimacy of these quarters where they had already shared so many things, so many thoughts and emotions. Here they had argued, reached agreements, compromised, committed to each other and made the kind of decisions no one should ever have to make.

Having her here was pure joy.

The moment the guard had left them alone and the hatch had crackled closed their eyes had fallen on each other. They had exchanged knowing smiles. He had allowed himself a few seconds to take in her appearance and she had silently rewarded herself for having put some more thought on her attire than she had grown accustomed to. Not that she had much of a choice anyway. She had discarded the power suits (too presidential) and she had experienced a wave of nostalgia remembering the red dress she had worn for the groundbreaking ceremony, now left behind forever. She had also ruled out the only other dress still in her possession: she would not want to start a rumor mill among the Galactica crew if anyone saw her on her way to the Admiral's quarters wearing too casual, maybe too form- fitting clothes. She had finally opted for a pair of pants, casual yet in a fairly good state, and a plain, light- colored shirt. She had not been entirely disappointed by her reflection in the mirror and judging by the expression in Bill's eyes he had seemed to approve, too.

Then he had reached out to encourage her to come further in. He had offered her a chair across him, dinner had been served, and they ate and drank as they talked. Then dinner had been over.

And they had kept talking.

They had talked about the rescue operation, discussed the resistance, and attempted to remember as many names as they could of those men and women forever gone, forever lost to the hell that New Caprica had turned out to be. She had then shared with him her plans to resume the presidency and he had complemented them with a couple of suggestions of his own. And thus the hours had drifted by. They had gone on and on without even noticing it.

Now, suddenly, they find themselves out of topics and surrounded by a companionable silence. The echo of the last words they have pronounced lingers in their ears and the rumble of Galactica's engines makes them aware of the absence of other sounds. It feels comfortable.

"Are you done?" Bill inquires with a smile, pointing at her nearly empty plate.

Laura smiles right back at him and nods. She lifts her napkin from her thighs, folds it and lays it down on the table. Then he rises from the chair, walks over to a dark corner and squats down. Laura's eyes follow him, relaxed yet slightly expectant. She does not have to wait much to find her curiosity satisfied. She hears a couple of clicking sounds and, just like that, a soft melody fills the air of Bill's quarters.

Laura looks up, caught by surprise. Her eyes scan the space around her as if she were expecting to see the notes floating by over their heads. Bill approaches her with a broad smile and an outstretched hand. The gesture registers with her a moment later.

He wants to dance with her.

He is offering his hand for her to stand up. She feels the flush on her cheeks as she accepts.

Their fingers intertwine. Her free arm winds around his shoulder and his hand finds her waist. As they start rocking, however, Laura lowers her eyes. If he did not know better he would think she is avoiding his. This is so unlike her. Bill cannot help but start wondering if she is alright. He chides himself: he is too used to being on the verge of losing her, he is too used to hidden dangers, to things going wrong. He lets out a relieved sigh when Laura links her hands behind his neck and brings her body closer to his. His arms circle her waist to pull her closer and she responds cuddling a little further into him.

She wants this. Gods, she does. Happiness washes over her and its flood only builds up further when she feels Bill's arms closing around her, securing her to him. However, guilt makes her heart clench: she is just hiding. She is such a coward. She has initiated this movement because she cannot let him see.

As much as she wants Bill to remain oblivious to her pain, a sob betrays her. She knows he has heard it when he stops their dance and stills, sharpening his ears. Laura caresses the nape of his neck and accommodates her head against his shoulder. Another lie. It works. It does, but just for a couple of seconds. Bill resumes their slow swinging until another sob shakes her slender form. Game over. She will not be able to cheat on him any longer.

He pulls back with a soft grunt and searches for her face.

"Laura, what's wrong?"

Both his tone and his frown are deep with concern. The low rumble of his voice feels like a caress that only makes everything so much worse. She shakes her head.

"Nothing. It's not wrong. It's right. It's just so right and… and down there on that godsforsaken mud rock I couldn't afford… I had forgotten…" Laura takes a deep breath trying to calm down, to stop her voice from shaking, to get a hold of her own, skin- deep emotions. It is a vain attempt. Oblivious to her efforts, another thick, salty drop breaks free from her eyelids and draws a wet pattern down to her jaw. She rolls her tear- filled eyes up in frustration. "Gods, I'm spoiling the mood. I'm making a mess. I look like a frakking schoolgirl."

Bill tilts his head to the side. His eyes narrow as he watches her struggle with herself and fail miserably. If only she knew how the vision of her grief affects him; how he feels her sorrow in his own gut, raw and full- force. How seeing her devastated makes the tough Admiral of the Colonial fleet feel like someone has just pulled the rug from under his feet.

"No, you don't. It was hell down there. Don't be ashamed, Laura. Not with me. It's okay. I'll never judge you."

She takes another ragged breath and summons up the courage to meet his eyes at last. Whatever she finds in them make her nod weakly after a few seconds with a mix of defeat and gratitude. She lifts her hands off his chest and brushes her tears away. His hands leave her waist and lay on her shoulders for comfort. After a few moments he slides his palm across her back and pushes gently to guide her to the couch. He is met with her immediate resistance.

"No... Let's just… dance a little more, Bill. Please."

He regards her for a moment and nods. He walks around Laura and positions himself in front of her again. Pulling at her hand, he guides her back into the circle of his arms, encourages her to cling to him, to take whatever she needs. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck and shoulders. She rests her chin against the base of his neck and closes her eyes with force as the waves of the music hit her again. Bill rocks them in lazy circles, cradles her head in his big palm. She barely shakes but it does not fool him: he knows she is weeping quietly.

She presses herself against him impossibly close. She had thought that the moment of her release had passed with their earlier interruption but the flow of tears resumes as soon as she finds herself surrounded by his warmth, secured against his chest. There does not seem to be any end to this salty tide. Trying to control it proves useless.

She lets go.

The song is over yet they remain still, wrapped in each other, refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to let go. After a few seconds she stretches and pulls back slightly, like suddenly realizing that the music has finished. Laura is not quite sure when it has happened, though. She blinks and lifts her head slowly, almost reluctantly. She offers him a watery, emerald gaze and a coy smile.

"Thank you."

He looks at her tenderly.

"You're beautiful." He informs her as his thumb brushes the line of her jaw, catching a couple of tears on the way.

She cocks her head in mocking disbelief. One eyebrow arches to scold him for saying such a blatant lie.

"You are. Red, puffy eyes, running nose and all."

She giggles. His smile broadens. Then he turns serious. A deep longing draws shadows on his features and suddenly his traits seem to have much sharper edges.

"I've missed you so much, Laura."

She does not reply. She regards him instead, registers the sadness in his expression, reads it sign by sign, better than she would in words. He can be so frakking eloquent without uttering a sound. His eyes are a loud cry; his skin is a beloved battlefield where she believes she can find the new marks that her absence left, the creases revealing his worry for her, if she looks hard enough. She lifts her hands to his cheeks to ease whatever is left of the pain she has involuntarily inflicted.

"So, now that we have properly taken care of my grief, shall we take a closer look at yours?"

He drops his eyelids with a low grunt and shakes his head on the negative. It is not a defensive move, though. His refusal feels more like a neutral statement, like a hint that the need for that is long gone. The moment he opens his eyes again everything is still there for her to see. No emotional retreat, no pretense, no attempt to hide, no reserve.

"So says the man who just convinced me that letting my emotions loose was totally okay."

Her palms feel light, warm and silk- soft against his cheeks. He is astonished at the strength and energy that such delicate forms can instill in him. She was trembling in his embrace mere moments ago, holding onto him for dear life, trusting his arms solely for support and balance.

He does not know how he could go one single day without this. Without even knowing if he would ever see her again. He is so sure that the words he is about to say are the truth. She is his beginning and his end and she is here, safe and sound in his arms. Life can be so simple, really.

"I'm fine, Laura."

"Bill…"

She is not quite admonishing him. Rather, she seems hurt that the trust she has just displayed with him, all barriers down, her body and soul crumbling before him, is not returned. She seems to be having a hard time concealing her disappointment; it is showing clear as day despite herself. He needs to explain, to reassure her.

"I mean it, Laura. I… I nearly lost my mind thinking of you down there. Thinking that I… that you might… that we might never…" he trails off but he trusts his message is clear. "Now that you're here, I'm more than fine. I can deal with the rest. Everything else, we'll figure out. Everything else will fall into place."

She bites her lip. _We. We'll figure out._

"I'm here. I'm back." She whispers, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. "You brought me back, Bill. You saved us all."

Bill does not answer; he neither acquiesces nor contradicts her. He just locks eyes with her and accepts her caress, her affection. Her forgiveness, that he so badly craves, for something she clearly does not believe that needs to be forgiven, not for a second.

Laura swings forward on her feet just so. Her fingers thread in his hair and pull his head down gently. He obliges and his arms close more tightly around her waist in response.

The touch of her lips is both soft and intense. He savors it with his eyes closed, reveling in the feel, the taste, the shape and the corners of her mouth. He does not need to see her to know she is doing the same: their lips and tongues meet, explore, caress, and take over the talking from the point where words are not enough anymore. There is a lot of thoughtfulness and not a single drop of haste as they exchange each and every emotion that can be expressed with kisses. She reassures him with her presence, he will protect her with his life. Both are grateful for having found someone who is willing to give them all those things they were too used to living without.

They pull apart slowly but their contact lingers, their cheeks brushing each other's, their breaths awakening each other's skin, sharpening their senses.

"Laura."

"Hmm."

"Whatever you want to make of tonight, I'm there with you. I don't mean to push. I'm just letting you know."

She freezes momentarily. Then she drops her head and smiles against his shoulder.

"Trying to make up for the chance we missed that night on New Caprica, Admiral?"

He chuckles and plays along.

"We were stoned. Maybe we didn't miss any chance after all. Maybe we took them and we… just don't remember."

Her answer comes out a bit muffled as she nuzzles his neck and snuggles closer.

"We were stoned." She concedes. "But I would remember. I _do_ remember."

His tone is downright solemn when he replies.

"Me too. I do remember."

She blushes and feels grateful that her face is buried in the crook of his neck. Not that it would be much of a problem if Bill saw her blushing anyway. Hard to believe they are actually talking _this_.

"I can hear the engines turning in your brain." He quips as his warm, solid hands caress her spine up and down.

"We can just do tonight." She says. And it is an assertion, not a question.

"Which is a valid reason for both a Yes and a No."

"Exactly."

She does not dare to lift her head off his shoulder and meet his gaze. She might no longer have a choice, no longer be able to reign on her own emotions if she does.

"Laura."

She refuses to move. He nudges her gently.

"Laura, look at me."

She needs to move. She allows herself a second before lifting her head and turning her face to him. Her gaze meets his. She is all sparkling eyes.

"Both options are right. Whatever you decide, it will be the right decision."

She stays still, her hands on his waist, silently plunging in his dark blue oceans. He can tell she is letting the meaning of his words sink in. He can tell she is grasping their significance, the concession to her feelings made in advance by a universe she is so used to being perpetually in debt to. Just for this one time, the universe will turn a blind eye on whatever she decides to do here, tonight, with this man. And this man's words also imply that he is willing to follow her no matter what she decides; that everything will be fine, too, if she prefers not to go down that path.

The second Laura makes up her mind Bill reads as much in her eyes. He tries to ignore the pang of anticipation in his gut and holds his breath.

"If both options are right just for tonight, then I'd rather… go for what I want."

Her eyes glint and darken at the same time and the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

Bill stays still for a moment. Then he comes forward and closes the small distance between them. He runs a hand through her hair, wraps his other arm around her waist. One second later, his lips cover hers. A few more delightful seconds and Laura feels his mouth drawing a pattern down the side of her neck. His fingers tug gently at the first button of her shirt and start pushing it through its hole.

As her senses become heightened and her mind more and more foggy, Laura knows she is sure beyond any doubt.

This is right, indeed.

 **Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!**


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